


Covenant

by miraworos



Series: A More Perfect World [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos
Summary: Fifty or so years after miracling Aziraphale to forget their encounter at the gentlemen's club, Crowley rescues Aziraphale from Nazis only to end up in exactly the same position.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A More Perfect World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596484
Comments: 48
Kudos: 272
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I had so much fun writing the previous one in this series, I figured why not see where the story goes? Apparently, it goes to the Bentley, lol. There's one more after this one, I think--hopefully with a slightly happier ending. #sorryaboutit

_1941 - London_

“Lift home?”

As Aziraphale, eyes wide and all over dust, trailed Crowley through the wreckage of the church to the Bentley, Crowley’s thinking went something along the lines of…

 _Fucking fuckity fuck fuck._ _Lift home? What the fucking Heaven was I thinking?_

Because it was too dangerous. Too dangerous by a country mile, after having risked his corporation, his demonic reputation, his carefully laid plans for a thoroughly commendation-worthy pack-of-lies memo to be sent down to Hell taking credit for all the chaos of the Blitz. Too dangerous after he’d so spectacularly revealed his true feelings by saving a satchel full of useless books just because the angel loved them. And now to offer him a lift? Crowley really must have a death wish. The look on the angel’s face when Crowley’d handed over the bag should have served as a reminder, a warning. Instead, Aziraphale had looked at him with those big, dewy blue eyes, and Crowley had found himself “lift-home?-ing” without his brain even weighing in on the ramifications.

Nevertheless, the angel’s quiet footsteps echoed behind him on the pavement, and Crowley couldn’t take it back, wouldn’t take it back. Not even after what had happened at the gentleman’s club fifty years prior. Especially not after, if he were being honest.

“Still at the old bookshop?” Crowley asked, his voice cracking a bit with nerves, as he pulled open the Bentley’s passenger's-side door for the angel.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said as he sat and pulled in his legs. Crowley yanked his gaze away from the angel’s hips—the same hips that he’d wrapped his own legs around the last time they’d met. He managed after a too-long moment to shut the door with a soft _clunk_ , his hands sweating. He wiped them on his trousers as he circled the front of the Bentley to the driver’s side.

“It’s…it’s been a while, my dear,” Aziraphale said, looking straight ahead as Crowley slid into his seat.

“Has it?” Crowley pulled the Bentley away from the pavement, pressing the pedal to match their speed to the velocity of his pounding heart. Did Aziraphale remember their dalliance at the gentleman’s club? Crowley had taken his memory, but Aziraphale was an angel. It was entirely possible that Crowley couldn’t tamper with an angel’s memory. How would he even know, unless Aziraphale said something?

“Nearly— Yes, it must be nearly a century now,” Aziraphale said. And was that a note of…hurt…in his tone? “Since we argued about the…well, you know.”

Crowley blew out a breath of relief. The miracle had worked then. “Forget about it, angel. All in the past.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. Not that I was in the wrong, of course.”

Crowley laughed. As if he needed another sign that not a thing had changed.

“Of course,” Crowley agreed, his anxiety ticking down a notch.

“You’re mocking me. Don’t think I can’t tell,” Aziraphale said, but there was a smile behind it.

“Why, whatever do you mean? I assure you, I was nothing of the kind.”

And the dance between them carried on as if neither of them had dropped a step.

“Actually, my dear,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley pulled up to the bookshop. “I find that I’m a little…unsettled…after tonight’s events. Would you very much mind driving us out of London for a while? Just until the night passes?”

“Course,” Crowley said, though he was dead certain that spending more time in close quarters with Aziraphale was not the best way to cement boundaries. “Whatever you want, angel.”

As they left the distressed city behind them, temporarily at least, Aziraphale began to relax in increments directly proportional to the number of miles in the rearview.

“What have you been doing all this time?” the angel said finally.

“Oh, bit of this, bit of that,” Crowley evaded, grateful yet again that angels detected love rather than falsehoods. “Sleeping, mostly. You’d be amazed what a hundred-year nap can do for your energy levels.”

“Indeed,” the angel said with just a hint of sarcasm. “You’ve missed rather a lot.”

“I can tell you, I was quite chuffed by the automotive advancements,” Crowley said as he stroked the wheel of his beautiful new Bentley. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Aziraphale agreed, smiling indulgently at him.

They chatted as they passed through small villages, all asleep—as removed from the air-raid sirens of London as they could possibly get. In one such hamlet, Crowley finally pulled the Bentley off the road into a country lane and cut the engine. The stars were bright, almost close enough to burn him.

“I’ve— I’ve missed you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s heart thundered. That was quick. Already back into dangerous territory.

“Well, I _am_ rather—”

“No, stop.”

Crowley stopped.

“No more banter. I’m being serious.”

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say, angel.”

“Say you missed me, too.”

Crowley closed his eyes and leaned back into the leather upholstery. “Angel. You know I— You know how I— I mean, I just saved you from the bloody Nazis, for Satan’s sake.”

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale said, though the hush in his voice made plain his disappointment.

Crowley turned in his seat, grasping Aziraphale’s coat sleeve. It was as much as he’d allow himself to touch. Any more than that, and he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. Not after fifty years of yearning for one more caress, one more slight brush of contact, even.

“I can’t say…things…the way you can. I’m rubbish at it, for one thing, and for another, I can’t risk y—”

“Bugger it,” Aziraphale said, a familiar steely look entering his expression as he chucked his satchel of books into the backseat and swiveled toward Crowley, knocking the demon’s grip loose. Then he cupped Crowley’s jaw with one hand, stroking his cheek with a soft thumb and looking deeply into Crowley’s eyes. He was clearly seeking something in Crowley’s expression. Understanding? Permission, maybe?

Unable to stop himself, Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s palm, kissing it softly. His hat bumped backward on his head, trapped between him and the Bentley’s window. Aziraphale took it and chucked it after the books. Then he took off Crowley’s sunglasses with gentle, precise fingers.

“All right, dearest?” he asked, breathless.

Crowley felt guilty. He’d gone to all the trouble of erasing their last encounter of toeing into these treacherous waters, and then the very next time he allows himself to get near the angel, Aziraphale thrusts them immediately back into the same predicament.

“I know that you’re worried, darling,” Aziraphale continued. “But you yourself talk about how they never check up. Their negligence is what has made it possible for the Arrangement to go on this long.”

“But that’s just it, don’t you see? That was the whole point of the holy water. They’re bound to grow suspicious eventually. Upstairs and Down. I want you to at least have plausible deniability. If they catch us…like this…there will be no denying it. Not ever.”

“We can’t live our lives on what-ifs, Crowley.”

“I— I’m not— I don’t fancy you that way, angel,” he lied.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, darling. It is far too late for that to work. You literally just kissed me.”

“On the hand. That’s—that’s hardly…an admission of—”

And without a by-your-leave, Aziraphale leaned completely into Crowley’s personal space and kissed him full on the mouth, weaving his fingers into Crowley’s hair.

“Mmph,” Crowley protested, though the rest of his body was not in the least protesting. He pulled back just enough to rumble, “We’re not exactly… Anyone could—”

With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale climbed into Crowley’s lap and attacked his lips again. Crowley’s brain immediately evaporated out his ears with a sibilant hiss.

Several minutes, or perhaps decades, later, Aziraphale broke away to trail kisses up Crowley’s jawline to his ear.

“Ng…angel…wh-what did you…? _Oh._ ” That last was in response to Aziraphale’s palming Crowley’s rapidly hardening cock through his trousers.

“I concealed us, naturally,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s throat. “Useful things, miracles.”

“The entire Bentley?” Crowley squeaked as Aziraphale began stroking him—hard.

“From all five senses,” Aziraphale confirmed. “You can be as loud as you like, my dear.”

The echo of the angel’s words from their previous tryst at the club worked like a glass of cold water dumped unceremoniously on Crowley’s head.

“Angel, wait. Stop. We can’t do this.”

Aziraphale pouted, but he did finally pull back. “I can tell you want me. You do want me, don’t you?”

“Yes, of _course_ , I do. Which is exactly why we can’t. If we start, we won’t stop.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Aziraphale asked, looking him over critically as if determining which piece of him to devour first.

“It’s a bad thing if we get caught, angel. I’ve only been saying it for the last ten minutes.”

“We won’t get caught, Crowley. I’m careful, and you’re…wily,” he said, his lascivious smile returning with the last word. He bent forward again, capturing Crowley’s mouth with his own.

“Aziraphale…” _tongue swept artfully over tongue_ “I…” _lower lip sucked between clever teeth_ “Angel, please…”

And somehow, in the minutes that followed, Crowley’s _pleases_ shifted from _please stop, be reasonable, angel_ to _please touch me, kiss me, take me, angel_. _I’m yours_ …

Aziraphale heard the difference the moment the tenor of it changed, and he _pounced_ on it. He snapped again, not bothering to take his lips off where they sucked the exposed skin beneath Crowley’s loosened tie. The Bentley’s interior immediately transformed from that of a standard arrangement of leather bar seats to that of a large, fully outfitted mattress, fluffy white pillows included.

Crowley chuckled. “Why not banish our clothes while you’re at it?” he asked as he licked the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.

“Oh, I intend to unwrap you completely,” Aziraphale growled. “Bit by delicious bit.”

Crowley shuddered. “I can’t wait that long.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, my love.”

Crowley’s brain short-circuited for a full minute at hearing the word _love_ from the angel’s lips.

“Dear Lord, you are utterly irresistible,” Aziraphale moaned as he climbed on top of Crowley fully clothed and slid against him, torturing Crowley’s cock with the friction.

In an effort to speed Aziraphale along, Crowley tore at bow tie and collar, miracling the angel’s shirt buttons to pop open of their own accord.

“Now, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested with mock severity. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, and miracling the Bentley invisible wasn’t cheating?”

“That was necessary, my dear. A completely…” _nip_ “…necessary…” _suck_ “…miracle.”

Crowley shivered again at the naked _want_ dripping from every word out of his angel’s mouth. And then he was suddenly one-hundred-percent done with waiting. He sat up as much as the headroom in the Bentley allowed so that he could squirm out of his coat jacket and vest.

“If you won’t strip me, I’ll do it myself,” Crowley hissed.

He didn’t get far with his shirt buttons before Aziraphale used his superior strength to pin him to the mattress.

“Tut, tut. Such an impatient demon. How shall I thwart you?”

And the raw promise in the words nearly undid Crowley completely.

“Touch me, angel,” he breathed. Pleaded, really.

“Oh, I’ll touch you,” Aziraphale assured him. “But first, I want to taste…”

Crowley buried his hands in Aziraphale’s hair as the angel lowered his head to nose under Crowley’s partially opened shirt, licking a hot path from his breast bone to his nipple. He sucked the almost painfully sensitive nub into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth. Crowley gasped and arched involuntarily into the sensation.

 _How_ had the angel learned this? Crowley’s feverish brain whirled with the possibilities, none of which he particularly wanted to entertain at the moment. And yet the thought of the angel fucking anyone else seemed almost unbearably _hot_ , despite the hint of jealousy that pinched his heart.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed as he writhed.

Aziraphale hummed against Crowley’s skin in amusement. “Don’t start, don’t stop. Which is it, my dear?”

“B-bastard,” Crowley said, pushing Aziraphale’s shoulders downward, lowerlowerlower.

Protest aside, Aziraphale obediently moved his ministrations in lazy circles down Crowley’s abdomen, causing ripples of icy heat to tingle throughout Crowley’s entire torso. His cock was actively bitching at him now, loudly demanding in the back of his mind that the angel _hurry the fuck up already_. Crowley couldn’t agree more.

“Aziraphale!”

“Yes, dear?”

“What is taking so long?”

“Why the rush? We have all night, and I plan to use up every lost drop of it.”

The word _drop_ made Crowley squirm even more. “Listen, angel. I’m not the begging type. I’m the cursing type.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” the angel said as he slowly—excruciatingly slowly—undid Crowley’s trousers. “Or rather, I think a person could be both. In any case, I fully intend to hear you beg, darling. There will be ever so much begging.”

Crowley shout-stuttered as Aziraphale fucking finally slid his hand into Crowley’s trousers and under the waistband of his briefs. Unfortunately for Crowley, it was only to torment Crowley further with _almost_ touches and the slightest of brushes as Aziraphale worked them off altogether. Crowley moved to help, but Aziraphale would accept no assistance, even resorting to holding Crowley down with one leaden forearm while shuffling the demon’s clothes off with the other. At least he allowed Crowley to miracle his own shoes off without protest.

“Why not just go ahead and discorporate me with your fucking flaming sword?” Crowley growled. “It would be faster.”

Aziraphale laughed loudly at that and smacked Crowley’s hip. “I will be using a sword to finish you off soon enough, Anthony J. Crowley, no worries there.”

Crowley shuddered at the sound of his lover’s tongue curling around the syllables of his new name.

“What did you call me?” he asked just to hear it again.

“ _Anthony_ …” Aziraphale said, returning to licking and sucking a path down Crowley’s now thoroughly naked body. “Do you like it when I say it?”

“Y-yes,” Crowley gasped as Aziraphale trailed his fingertips along the inner crease of Crowley’s thigh, still not _quite touching_. “Nnnghh.”

Then suddenly the hands, the mouth, the teeth drew away.

“Wh-what are you— Where—?”

“Not to fret, _Anthony_. I am simply taking a few moments to undress as well. I want to feel your hot skin, all of it, against my own. I have a feeling I will like that quite a lot.”

Crowley groaned. “You talk too damn much, angel. I _need_ …”

Aziraphale grinned smugly. “My dear, that sounded awfully close to begging.”

Crowley’s groan changed to a growl, and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He wrapped his own fingers around his achingly hard shaft and squeezed just enough to alleviate some of the pressure building to a blasting point. Dribbles of pre-cum slicked his fingers.

He heard Aziraphale gasp, and his eyes popped open to check on the angel.

“I had no idea how wantonly salacious watching you touch yourself would be, my love. Please, continue.”

“Angel,” Crowley complained, though he acquiesced. Anything to get some relief. He preferred Aziraphale do it, but he had to admit that watching the angel watch him stroke himself was both similar to and as thoroughly delightful as watching him anticipate an exquisite meal.

In any case, Crowley needn’t have worried. Aziraphale could only hold himself back for a few minutes before he pulled Crowley’s hand aside and took over…with his hot, velvet, sucking mouth.

Crowley arched again, using the little restraint he had left to keep himself from bucking up entirely into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel, sensing his imminent asphyxiation, settled his hands on Crowley’s hips, pressing them back into the Bentley’s mattress.

Curses streamed from Crowley’s mouth, loving curses, nonsense curses, curses that tore his heart out and left it bare for Aziraphale to see, all while the angel carefully and thoroughly and devastatingly ran his tongue and teeth over Crowley’s shaft. Crowley risked a glance down to see Aziraphale’s head between his thighs, his own hand buried in those beautiful white curls, and it nearly ended him. Then the angel moaned straight into Crowley’s cock, and it took everything Crowley had to hold back the towering orgasm threatening to break over him.

“Angel— angel— I’m close. I can’t—”

Heedless of Crowley’s warning, the angelic bastard sucked hard on Crowley’s cock, taking him all the way in, and fondling his balls besides, a clear message that Crowley should absolutely let go right fucking now. So Crowley did. In truth, he had no power to stop it. Not if Aziraphale willed it so.

Crowley’s orgasm hit him like a freight train going fifty miles an hour. It punched him in the chest with enough force to steal his breath completely. His body responded with the equal and opposite reaction of arching so forcefully that it even managed to partially dislodge Aziraphale from his grip around Crowley’s hips. Crowley’s cock, meanwhile, had no trouble fulfilling its primal function, pumping the angel’s mouth full of him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed through it, wanting more than anything to herald his love for the angle from the mountaintops. But even through the haze of afterglow, Crowley knew he had to hold the name close to his chest, keep it inside the Bentley. He couldn’t shout it the way he wanted, regardless of concealment miracles. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Aziraphale,” he said again, this time a whisper inked indelibly underneath his skin.

The angel audibly swallowed, as if proving a point. Then he let go of Crowley’s cock with a few lingering kisses up the shaft, up Crowley’s abdomen, lingering over the nipple he’d neglected earlier, and finally claimed Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley sighed into the kiss, tasting himself as well as the unique flavor of angel through the soft, sweet pressure. And after a languid moment or two, Aziraphale pulled back, an thoroughly smug look on his face.

“Scrumptious,” he said, reminiscent of the time he’d consumed a particularly tasty course of Cornish hen at the Ritz. Crowley could almost see him patting his lips with a corner of napkin.

“I love you,” Crowley said, unable to stop himself, stroking the angel’s cheekbone with a reverent thumb. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

“I know, darling,” Aziraphale said, gazing lovingly down at Crowley, and causing the demon a mild heart attack over the renewed worry that the forget-miracle hadn’t worked after all. “You saved my books.”

“I— Your books?” Crowley said, nonplussed.

“From the church bombing,” Aziraphale reminded him, chuckling. “Really, dear. I know I’m good, but I’m sure I didn’t suck your entire memory out of your prick just now.”

Crowley gaped at him. There was so much to unravel in that one statement that he couldn’t possibly respond.

Perhaps sensing that he’d thrown Crowley for a loop, Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him again.

“I love you, too, by the way,” the angel said between deft kisses. “Just in case it wasn’t clear.”

After a few more minutes of lazy snogging, Crowley’s brain quietly exploding in the background, Aziraphale’s ministrations became gradually more insistent. His still hardened cock made itself more known, sliding itself, striped with sweat and dewy pre-cum, along Crowley’s hip, his abdomen, his own twitching cock.

Aziraphale turned his attention to Crowley’s collarbone, and wasn’t _that_ a surprisingly erotic location. Crowley’d had no idea what the feeling of the angel’s tongue along a pulse point could do. The vulnerability of it. The trust. Tendering himself for the feast. It was erogenous beyond reason, and he _craved_ it.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said, his hands kneading Crowley’s sides, his lower back, his arse. “May I—? I want to—”

“‘Course,” Crowley said, kissing the angel’s shoulder and letting his knees fall apart as far as they would. “Anything, angel.”

“Not like— Could you—?”

With gentle tugs and pushes, Aziraphale rolled Crowley over onto his hands and knees.Crowley trembled at the implications. If he’d thought he was vulnerable before, having the angel at his back was a level beyond. But his trepidation was short-lived. This was _Aziraphale_. He’d trust him with anything. And the prospect of the angel’s breath on the back of his neck, his chest and arms cradling Crowley so intimately left Crowley aching everywhere all over again.

Aziraphale stilled, positioning Crowley so that he could easily access Crowley’s entrance. With slicked fingers, he spent only a few scant minutes stretching him, preparing him to accept Aziraphale’s cock. Crowley gasped and squirmed around Aziraphale’s fingers, willing the angel to hurry. He desperately wanted Aziraphale inside him.

“Please, angel, I— I’m ready, _please_ —”

Aziraphale hmmed again in satisfaction. “That was most definitely begging, my dearest, my darling, my demon.”

And with a soft nip to Crowley’s shoulder, Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and grabbed Crowley’s hips, levering him up just enough for the angel to position his cock. Then he brought Crowley down, slowly at first, onto his thick shaft.

“Shit, fuck,” Crowley swore, slamming his palm against the Bentley’s window to brace himself. As he settled, Aziraphale stroked his hip, his neck, the middle of his back where his wings connected when not tucked away into the ether. The skin around his wings was particularly sensitive to Aziraphale’s light caresses, and Crowley shivered, tightening inadvertently around Aziraphale’s cock.

“God bless it,” Aziraphale whispered shakily. Crowley could imagine his expression, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace of extreme restraint. “Crowley, darling, I need you to move.”

“I know,” Crowley said around a gasp as he obliged his angel. With Aziraphale’s support around his hips, Crowley lifted himself just enough to allow Aziraphale’s cock to stroke out a few inches before he reversed direction and slid back down with a hiss. He pressed against the mattress, against the window, against any surface within reach as Aziraphale bucked up to meet him.

Sensation poured through every atom of Crowley’s corporation, setting every nerve-ending on holy-fire. Tingles of divine grace, zinged across his back, his legs, his shoulders, as he and Aziraphale surged into each other and away again over and over. The pressure built inside him to an inferno that he was convinced only a demon could contain. And damn if his own cock wasn’t rock hard once more. Only Aziraphale could do this to him. Only Aziraphale had this _power_ over him.

On the next inward thrust, Aziraphale pulled Crowley up against his chest, changing the angle of penetration altogether, and rubbing insistently against Crowley’s prostate with mind-shattering intensity.

“ _Fuck_ , angel—”

“That is…the idea…”

Another two thrusts and Crowley spiraled over the edge a second time, taking his angel with him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, heedless of Heaven and Hell—and Crowley let him, gasping his own oaths and covenants into the firmament around them. Then he fell slack against his angel’s chest, as sinuous as he was in his serpent form.

Aziraphale flowed down with him to the mattress, spooning him, placing feather-light kisses along the ridge leading from Crowley’s ear to his shoulder. Then, snapping a quick miracle to clean them both, the angel wrapped his arms tight around the demon and pulled him possessively close.

“I will never let you go.” Aziraphale pressed the words fervently into Crowley’s skin. “Never.”

Crowley smiled, believing him. Fuck Heaven. Fuck Hell. They’d face whatever came at them together. No one stood a chance against them. Not even God.

Crowley must have drifted off for a while, cushioned in his angel’s arms, safe. Because the next thing he knew, he was being awakened by an insistent prick brushing against his arse while an angel stroked his hip and nibbled his earlobe.

“Rrggh,” Crowley groaned.

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale answered. “You’re awake.

“Barely,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Making up for lost time, are we?” His cock was already warming to the implied suggestion.

Their second bout of lovemaking was equally as intense as the first, if completely different. It was slower, for one. Having slaked their initial burst of desire, they didn’t rush. They spent hours exploring each other with their mouths and hands. When their need became inexorable, they sated each other gradually, unhurried, savoring the sensation of every tremor, every drip, every exhale. If the last climax had been about release, about freedom—a wild tempest on the wing—this one was about speculation and fulfillment—a meal consumed and relished.

Their third round, an hour or two later, was silly and fun, mostly wrestling and laughter and teasing each other. When Aziraphale came, his wings unintentionally burst onto the physical plane, causing chaos in the Bentley—shoving both demon and angel into a cramped corner, white feathers everywhere. Crowley’d guffawed for five straight minutes afterward, consoling a blushing, giggling angel with a kinky kind of feather play he’d never experienced before. Crowley was glad he had that to offer the angel, at least. And it wasn’t long before Aziraphale came again, this time noticeably lacking in wing infringement.

Crowley slept again, and when he woke, it was to early morning sunshine creeping in through the Bentley’s window, promising warmth and a long day ahead. He turned to gaze stupidly, adoringly at Aziraphale, who was…sleeping? Maybe? It was difficult to tell, honestly. The angel seemed not to exactly know how to do it properly. He lay perfectly still, his eyes closed, but poised, as if he’d simply frozen mid-blink. It was all very uncanny-valley, and probably for the best that he rarely engaged in sleep.

Crowley smiled anyway. His ridiculous heart swelled more at the awkwardness of it. He couldn’t help it. He must have hit his head when he Fell. It was the only explanation, really.

He reached up with a cautious finger to touch the angel’s cheek. Might as well make sure he was breathing, he told himself. But the truth was, he wanted to say good morning. That was all. Simple. Just good morning. As if it were a regular morning. As if together were a normal way for them to wake up.

The angel’s eyes fluttered open at Crowley’s touch. He regarded Crowley with a smile that the demon had never seen before. He thought he’d seen them all, even the secret ones the angel shared only with him. But he’d never seen this one. And this one was, by far, the best of them all.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Crowley’s. “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

“Like the dead,” Crowley croaked. “Though it can’t have been for more than an hour. Unless we hibernated the day away. What year is it? Perhaps we should check.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I promise you, I would have woken for breakfast regardless of your relentless need for sleep.”

“I suppose there’s comfort in that,” Crowley said, raising their entangled hands to kiss Aziraphale’s fingers.

“There’s always comfort in crepes, dearest.”

“Crepes, is it? Well, as long as we don’t have to go to France.”

“Heavens, no. There’s a delectable little bistro round the corner from…oh, right. We’ll have to drive there, I suppose.”

“And hope it’s made it through the bombings.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, sobering. “Perhaps tea and scones in a village nearby would be more the thing.”

“Whatever you want, angel,” he said, basking in the radiance of the being he loved more than anything in the universe, more than the stars, more than himself, even.

“I like the sound of that,” Aziraphale said, tugging Crowley down for a lascivious kiss.

Radio static flared through the cabin of the Bentley.

“Crowley, we’ve a job for you,” Beelzebub’s voice crackled through the static.

Crowley jumped nearly out of his skin at the sound. On instinct, without even _thinking_ , he banished Aziraphale and all his belongings back to the bookshop, erasing the angel’s memory of everything that had happened subsequent to the church bombing. He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do so—it had just happened. As if his instinct to protect Aziraphale at all costs was hardwired now to a certain course of action.

He instantly regretted it, but he also…didn’t. He needed Aziraphale to be safe, especially now. And Beelzebub’s voice that disastrously close to his precious angel was unacceptable, appalling, terrifying. He couldn’t have it. Not until he came up with some sort of plan to protect them. Until then, Aziraphale would be his little secret, even from Aziraphale himself.

“Blasted fucking damn bugger-all to Satan’s boiling bollocks—!” Crowley swore, colorfully and at length.

“Caught you at a bad time?” Beelzebub’s voice queried through the radio.

“What’s the bloody job?” he asked, seething.

“We’ll brief you at head office.”

Static intensified and then dropped off altogether, leaving Crowley alone in a Bentley with a handful of feathers, a bed where there should be seats, and a fucking _inferno_ raging inside him. Hell was his enemy now, just as much as Heaven. And he’d need a devil of a strategy to beat them both. Because he’d be damned a second time before he let anyone take Aziraphale away from him. Even if it took an ocean’s worth of holy water. Even if it took the end of the fucking world.


End file.
